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Christian Bixler May 2020
amorphous
the vitality that exists
under blossoms
Christian Bixler May 2020
leaf and tale
in brief
heart-shaped
Christian Bixler May 2020
plain shapes
hose, cube, cone
colored homely
Lamp fixtures
Christian Bixler Jan 2020
Listen, now my friends, for I
shall let, the thought that like
an illness threads, laced through
all the causeways of my veins,
that in the moment, threatening
decay, boils, and begs relief;
that all men, and women living,
made in the plan of this wide
and tangled tapestry, seek and
humor themselves to be, each
woven separate, unique in form
and station, and about them hung
the universe, dependent for its
character on their sight, which
itself by their hearts temperament is due.
Life, the lives of others, serve the
merest backdrop, the stage that
is the foundation of our act, and
our struggles, illumined by
measure of their intimacy, seem
in their importance to swallow the
world, and cast all that does not
pertain in a veil of contempt, disinterest.
Yet the world, as in untrammeled
thought we realize, does not sway
according to ourselves, move
whether sweet or bitter, along the
course of our presumption. But in its
step it moves to the tune of its creation;
wholly nothing, never fair nor foul alone;
a pool, in which like ripples man's every
thought and action begins, grows, dies,
and is reborn. Seen now, free of leaning
and imprint, the brush's work broad,
shallow, a truth is opened, that wiser now
perforce we clutch to our *******; that of
the living, who suffer, there are those
who suffer more, or less than ourselves,
and to the former in the halls of memory we
can do naught but weep, so shut our eyes
and turn, pretending the point less sharp,
the dose less bitter, that our minds may fall
again to the pattern, and our eyes again look
outward. Walled so, is it a wonder that these lives,
these men and women, shaped as they are through
pain are found forgot, abandoned in the memory
of their minds, their hearts? But memory is the
root of empathy, sympathy; so remember, and in
whoso you meet light their memory also; for it
is only when record fails that man's erasure is
complete; nor will ever his life lose its meaning
while there is one alive to remember.
Inspired by the episode Tywysog Cymru, The Crown, season three.
Christian Bixler Sep 2019
Be unclad of all fear,
o child mine,
of all of its grip and
its guile,

and be light as the air,
as the air, my love, as the
light and the air at dawn.

                  * * *

Let your gladness be sought,
o child mine,
be sought, the desire of your heart,

and may those that pass by be
the gladder for your touch;
the gladder, child that I love.

                  * * *
                  
Be you clad in all colors,
o child mine,
in all colors, my love, save one.

And that color you will hold
in the palm of your hand,
and your eye will always be on it.

                  * * *

Its weight you must ken,
o child that I love, its weight,
that you'll surely keep steady,

for it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.

Oh it's woe to you, and loss
beyond loss, if that weight
should ever be greater.
Derived from a melody of the kantele, the Finnish harp.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG22yCH6cCo
Christian Bixler Sep 2019
Oh! Here in my
heart, in my
heart of hearts,
is the name of my love,
my love.

Oh! Here in the
cleft, in the
deepest of deep
places, sheltered
from the wind,
and the sun,
and the sea,
is the name of my love,
my love.

There, my love
in my heart of hearts,
in the dark
of my fear,
and my sorrow,
and regret,
within me forever;
comfort and
solace.

In the fires of
my heart, in the
rivers of my blood,
as life, as the life
of the land, is my love,
my love.

And on my lips,
on the wings of
my breath, is her
name, my love.

In the times
of my gladness,
in the gladness
of my soul,
when my skin
trembles with
the spirit and
sensation, then
am I the gladder,
far more than
any man,
than any at all
in the telling of
this earth,
for I know what
it is to hold
love in my heart.

Yes I know
what it is
to hold love
in my heart.

And I hold you
in my heart,
in my heart,
in my heart.

Oh I tell you
love, you who
dwell within me,
in my breath
as the lands breath,
in my bones
as the lands bones.

If that time too
should come,
if that most blessed
time should
come in its time,
in its time that is
its own time,
and our lips meet,
seed and seeds
desire, there
after long yearning;
after the longest
of long yearnings.

Oh, I know not
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

Oh, to know
what I'd do,
oh my love,
oh my love.

But I think that
I'd burst, oh
my love,
my love.

As the dam in
the springtime,
my love,
my love.

But to feel your
touch, your touch
that burns, and
to drink your eyes,
as the pine and
hearthlight,
to know of your
scent, that of
all others is
your own,
and to breathe your
breath, as one,
as one.

To breathe of your
breath, as one,
as one.

Oh for this
do I yearn,
oh my love,
oh my love.

And for this
I'd yet yearn,
oh my love,
my love.

though I withered
in the blaze, oh
my love,
my love.

For in my heart,
in my deepest
heart, yea, in the
deepest of deep
places, there you
are, my love,
and your name is on
the point of my
lips, to fly,
to fly.

To fly as the eagle
flies, swiftly and
with great soaring.

It is you and none
other that I love,
I love.

And in these words
do I tell it, my love,
my love.

Though they fall
unanswered, my love,
my love.

Here is my cry.

Here is my cry.
Inspired by the Kiowa love song tradition, of which I have long known and admired. Meant to be sung.

https://folklife-media.si.edu/docs/festival/program-book-articles/FESTBK1973_03.pdf
  Sep 2019 Christian Bixler
Nadia
If you are willing to brave
the drunken wasps, the thorns,
and sneaky little spiders,
you can find
dark, juicy blackberries
In the most unlikely places


NCL August 2019
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